


And Never Do We Go

by ghosty



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drabble, Graduation, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9148579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosty/pseuds/ghosty
Summary: The world is quiet here.(or, Let's Read Another College Meanie AU Except We Subvert Where Mingyu Realizes He's Totally Gay And It's All Wonwoo's Fault.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> song mentioned is [in summer by cao fang](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzt9wyjHE_U) <3 sry for the very rushed and weird and lackluster meanie my hand slipped i swear ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

Mingyu doesn't want to graduate.

Despite being a hellion and a brat and downright wretched so much of the time, he fears change. Mingyu thinks it's fair to detest his comfort being pulled out from under him. In a last-ditch attempt to remain spoiled and unmoving, he picks up his guitar and doesn't even blink as Minghao drawls from his bed, "You'll get asbestos." before shutting the dorm door hard behind him.

The walk to the old theatre isn't far; just long. He has to pass by almost every other building on the small campus and watch bodies moving in faraway windows, parties going on in the frat houses that thump softly in the chilly air and commons staff cleaning up from the evening's specialty dinner. The red light at the crossing takes an eternity to shift, and in that time Mingyu goes from frustration to fearful to wondering if maybe he should just jump off the decaying building while he still has a shot at true irony.

Minghao is wrong about the asbestos, but it sure doesn't smell like it inside.

The theatre has been on the property since the dawn of time, seemingly. Countless performances were put on, generally quite good but never bringing in much of a crowd regardless, and Mingyu had never been part of a single one of them. Maybe that's why he's here.

It smells like mold and death and old dreams sleeping, but Mingyu turns on the light, pulls up a chair and pulls out his guitar and ignores it like he does everything else.

He hums instead.

It's a good thing Minghao's not here, he knows, because he would never let him live this down.

The humming is light and aimless at first as the strings warm up. He already knows where this is heading -- that stupid fucking song his roommate had been playing on repeat for two weeks now, and Mingyu didn't speak a droplet of Chinese but he knew every word to the simple, sweet tune by heart now. Despite telling Minghao he was extra, level ten gay for listening to something like this, he was a liar and a hypocrite and lots of other things that Freud would have loved to get his hands on.

Gross.

The first actual chords of something melodic carried from the instrument, and Mingyu sang quietly. His pronunciation wasn't perfect and he voice wasn't quite built for good singing, but it didn't matter; it was just a dying theatre and he was graduating soon anyway and would never see this place again.

"One, two three..."

Nobody would ever hear his words.

" _Children on the swings, children on the swings_ ," he almost breathes the words out, eyes falling shut. " _Children on the swings in the summertime_."

If he stays long enough, they might demolish the building with him in it.

" _Children on the swings in the summertime..._ "

Mingyu rolls over the first bars a few more times, extending their lifespan. He doesn't hear a chair in the audience creak with shifting weight.

" _I want to say something_ ," he croons, " _but it won't come out of my mouth_."

His audience of one blinks, then blinks again. He fumbles for his glasses quietly before absorbing that the boy on stage is not a ghost; he's Kim Mingyu from Media Management. They had English 102 together and accidentally kissed at a SigBet party and didn't talk about it afterwards.

" _Summer's time is slipping away._ "

Mingyu struggles a little on the higher notes, but never the lower, and as the song comes to its close he has the sense to open his eyes. There's almost a glint from a dark seat that suggest a diamond might be seated there, but he plays it off because that would be absolutely fucking moronic.

" _Please_ ," he sings quietly, " _let me stay in your heart a little while_."

And the last strings flutter, and the song fades into nothingness.

When Wonwoo starts clapping softly from his spot, Mingyu almost shrieks but settles instead on having several years taken off of his life. His grip on his guitar is so tight he feels like it might splinter in his palm, but then a deep, familiar voice calls out, "Encore?"

Heat rises up in Mingyu's neck, affronted and determined to avoid the sensation of creeping happiness that comes with it.

"What the fuck," he says, "are you doing here?"

Wonwoo doesn't miss a beat. "I was napping, actually, but don't stop on my account."

Mingyu feels redder and lets it feed his frustration. He wishes he weren't the only one standing under the warm spotlight, spites Wonwoo for being allowed to have the cover of darkness. "I meant why are you here napping? Why aren't you napping on a couch or something like a normal person?"

"I think I'm going to miss the theatre. So I came here."

Wonwoo was an English major. He, too, had never touched the theatre -- maybe came in once for the unintentionally hilarious performance of Dracula and certainly read his own fair share of screenplays, but never really cared -- but despite these facts, he had felt something similar to Mingyu.

"You're still dumb," Mingyu complained without any real gusto, and Wonwoo laughed from his perfect spot.

"At least I can admit it," he smiles awkwardly, but that's just how he always is. "I'm still tired, though, so if you want you can come sit here and play. It looks lonely up there."

The sentence is so backwards and it doesn't make sense. Mingyu wants to spit back _well aren't you equally lonely down there?_ but it doesn't come; there's only a dull ache that leaves as he hops down off the stage, glowering at the shadowed floor as he makes his way to the center row where feet are kicked up on the chair in front of it.

"What song was that?"

Mingyu almost jumps again at how suddenly close and louder Wonwoo's voice is now that he's here with him. Swallowing thickly, he clears his throat and tries to regain his composure to answer, "Just something stupid my roommate has been playing. It's Chinese."

"Doesn't answer my question, I think," Wonwoo replies evenly, getting comfortable in his seat again. His eyes are shut and his hands are folded over his midriff like a too-relaxed mummy. Mingyu wants to smile, but refuses to on prinicple.

"I don't remember what Minghao said," he almost reluctantly elaborates. "But something about the summer and... wanting to have more time for something I guess."

Wonwoo hums as Mingyu takes his place beside him. It's colder away from the stage light, but there's a trickle of warmth coming from his side, and he unconsciously lets his elbow nudge and rest against Wonwoo's arm.

"It's fine," Wonwoo says. "This space is liminal and time cannot run out here."

"Did you read that in a book?" Mingyu scowled as he started plucking out the first few notes, unable to even try and face him with his heart tumultous as it was.

Wonwoo shook his head. "Naw. Just came to mind."

Mingyu strums idly on his guitar, and there is no more inclination to jump. He wonders how he always ends up back here.

"That's pretty fucking gay," he mutters, but his ears are still reddened.

Wonwoo grins from the corner of his eye as Mingyu starts to play again.


End file.
